


The Name of the Game

by DoreyG



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 17:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up involves having sex (not a relationship, not at all) with people you wouldn't expect</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Name of the Game

“This,” he says, quite strictly as he exits the shower with one towel around his waist and one around his hair, “was _not_ part of the deal.”

Bart, still sprawled in his bed, only _groans_ and flips him the finger in such a charming way. The man (man, totally a man – he _counts_ as a man since his eighteenth birthday was a month ago now) is still absolutely naked – hair still tousled, left nipple still slightly red, cock still _visible_ in a rather-

…He wasn’t about to think ‘tempting way’, not at all.

“Seriously,” of _course_ not – he was just about to carry on, in fact, to move a step closer to the bed and firmly cross his arms, “I helped you with your homework, we had sex – you should be _gone_ by now.”

Bart only groans again.

“…Won’t your mother worry?”

“I told her I was sleeping over at Milhouse’s,” that, at least, gets _words_ … Not good words, not by any stretch of the imagination (any _respectable_ stretch of the imagination, anyway), but he still decides to take it as progress as Bart finally props himself up on his elbows and sends him a smirk, “gotta love my mum, she still believes I have sleepovers at my age.”

“What, have you slept with Milhouse too?” He snaps, a touch sharper than he intended… Hurries on, as Bart arches one faintly amused eyebrow, “I _mean_ : won’t Milhouse be worrying about you, then?”

“So smart, so naïve,” Bart snorts, an almost… No, fondness can’t _possibly_ exist here, “no sleepover was arranged, poindexter.”

“…Well-“

“And I _haven’t_ slept with Milhouse. I’ve had one gay experience before you, dude, and I don’t even remember his name.”

…He narrows his eyes. Because, for all that Bart _pretends_ to have walked the entire world and wrote a book about it, the man is just as inexperienced and, dare he think it, mollycoddled as him, “yes you do.”

“…Yes, I do,” Bart sighs, briefly, moves to a sitting position and braces his arms on his legs, “but Rod refuses to talk about it and that lie sounds a lot cooler.”

“For heaven’s sake, I’m starting to believe that you’ll never mentally advance past the age of ten,” he sniffs, and very firmly _ignores_ any jealousy at the thought of Rod putting his hands on Bart’s skin or lying in Bart’s bed or drawing moans from Bart’s perfect (he did not at all think that) throat “…Won’t it ruin your reputation if people find out that you’ve been spending so much time with me?”

“What people?”

“Nelson,” he says, quite flatly, “Kearney, Jimbo, Dolph – all the ones that have made my life a misery over the past, oh, eighteen years.”

“…Bit of a-“

“I was born the day after Nelson, in the same hospital, on the same ward,” he says, still flatly and with just a touch of weariness this time, “there’s a picture somewhere of him biting me on the arm. I can show it to you as proof, if you’d like?”

“Nah, man, I’m cool,” Bart says, looking a _touch_ perturbed by this “…And I also don’t care.”

He stares blankly for a moment.

He _blinks_ blankly for another. Because this is Bart Simpson – and, as he said earlier, he’s pretty sure that the man will _never_ advance past the mental state of a ten year old (excluding views on sex, for Bart has apparently picked up some _moves_ over the past few years), “pardon?”

“I don’t care who finds out that I’m spending time with you,” Bart elaborates, quite _cheerfully_ “…Though I might mind a bit if Lisa finds out what we’ve been doing in our time together.”

“Right.”

“She’d never let it _rest_.”

“Okay.”

“…Martin?”

He’s frowning in a terribly puzzled way, he can’t quite help himself, “why are you lying to spare my feelings?”

“What?” And Bart, as expected… Looks _appalled_ by that? Sits up even further, arms sliding off his legs, and sends him a look of such stunned innocence that he just has to lick his lips at it, “Martin, I _like_ spending time with you. You may be stuck up, a bit of a know it all and even more terminally uncool than Milhouse – but you’re also a fantastic lay, really smart, and- and- just _good_ to spend time with.”

He regards Bart for a second.

…He may be gawping, just a little, so wide that the drool may start to drip soon.

“…And now you’ve made me talk about my feelings,” but Bart is blushing, and is still naked so he can see that blush stretching down over the man’s chest and belly and almost to his cock, so he supposes that they’re possibly in the same boat, “which is, y’know, embarrassing – come back to bed?”

He considers that for a second.

…He may still be gawping.

But, as bidden, he steps right up to the side of the bed (where Bart’s clawing arm knocked some sheets loose earlier), whips the towel from his hair and _drops_ the towel from around his waist as Bart reaches up one wonderfully eager hand to drag him in.

 

-

 

Bart’s skin is almost becoming familiar now, after all the times they’ve slept together this year (usually Bart coming to his house for tuition and ending up in his bed, or quickies in various school supply closets when they’re both supposed to be going to class, or one memorable time when Bart’s parents went to visit family and they were left with an empty bathroom and Lisa and Maggie out at the houses of friends) – he knows exactly how to spread his hands over Bart’s ribs to make his heartbeat pick up, exactly when to tilt his head as they kiss, exactly where to put his fingers and make Bart _groan_.

“Martin,” Bart gasps, already hard again (the joys of being a teenager), and flips them – so he’s on top with his knees digging in. They rock together for a moment, slow and warm and languid… 

Before he decides that he’d prefer a bit of speed – reaches up to grasp Bart’s hip in a silent signal.

…It should be strange how they’ve learned to read each other in such a way (without words or meeting eyes or _anything_ ), but he can hardly think about that _now_. 

Within seconds of the signal being given Bart properly _grinds_ down – so that their cheeks brush together, their chests bump, their cocks _slide_ in a perfect way that has him hard and gasping and throwing his head back into the pillow. They pause for a second, both shuddering, before Bart dares to do it again – and this time he goads him on, braces his heels against the bed and thrusts back with just as much force.

And it is hot, as Bart whines into his ear.

And it is glorious, as he grasps those bony hips so hard that he probably leaves bruises.

And it is, he very absently thinks while sliding a hand between them and wrapping it around both their cocks, almost _perfect_ as Bart turns his head sideways and they’re suddenly kissing ever so messily…

And then he’s coming, hard and so glorious that his skin still prickles a little afterwards, and Bart is following the second after him – slumping down onto his chest with sweaty skin and closed eyes.

…The man’s actually rather heavy.

“This was most certainly _not_ part of the deal.”

…But he can almost forgive that, as Bart huffs a breathless laugh into his chest and leans up for a _proper_ kiss – one so lovely that he can’t help but smile.


End file.
